Big thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Lady of Dorne
Time for Truths
The blue chamber in the rooms allotted to Alric had never looked as small as it was now, crowded with old and young, men and women – all those who Alric's party consisted of. Soon, the heat rose, gathered by the warmth of so many bodies while Elia explained what her intentions were.
"Are you sure, my lady?" Lord Jordayne finally asked, with a meaningful look at the Master of Ships. He was far from the only one who found Anders Yronwood's presence more than a little troubling. Alliances were one thing but this might be just too much. Too dangerous.
In the pale candlelight, Elia's face appeared even more drawn, her eyes wide and troubled. But she nodded slowly, taking the pen in a hand that did not tremble. They had not dared to trust with this document to any secretary in the Red Keep, so Alric had been the one to write the text in his own hand. That was the best way – he had nothing to gain by supporting his son over his daughter.
"Sure?" she asked. " Of course I am sure. I trust everyone in this room," she said. "Everyone."
She went to the table and started to sign the document when Alric caught her eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. From now on, she needed to read everything she signed, no matter how much she trusted the person providing the paper. Even her father was not to be taken in blind trust.
Seventeen pairs of eyes followed her as she read the brief announcement. For a moment, she paused before signing it. The old grief for her mother and the fresh one for Doran gripped her throat; with a lump that looked like it'd never go away, she wrote, for the first time in her life, I, Lady Elia.
From that moment on, everything happened in a blur. Alric signed as witness, followed by Lord Yronwood, Aelinor, and everyone present. Elvar and Naeryn were the last ones to affix their signatures to the document. Naeryn dusted it with sand to dry it faster. Looking at her cousin's sure, smooth movements, Elia was suddenly reminded of their childhood, how hard had it been for Naeryn to learn to feed and dress on her own. But she had survived and triumphed against all those who claimed she was only a burden. I have to be this strong, too, Elia thought.
Silently, the men and women started leaving in groups of two or three, some of them stopping to Elvar to wish him luck. Finally, it was only Elia's family and Lord Yronwood who remained. The man slowly approached to Elia; she held her hand out and he bowed his head over it. How warm his fingers are, she thought. How steady.
"I thank you, my lady," he said, hoarsely. "Thank you for your trust."
She smiled at him. "We are allies, aren't we?"
Strange as it was, she felt no fear that might intercept her letter and give it to Rhaegar or even keep it to use against Oberyn later. Lord Yronwood was a man of honour. And he was of Dorne as much as she was.
He looked at her father and something passed between the two men – grudging acceptance, willingness to overcome hatred that had gone on for thirty years. Then, Yronwood looked at Aelinor and his features were softened by something like a smile. "My son wrote to me," he said. "He's thrilled with the match. Turned out he had already seen Lady Vaella. He can't wait for the wedding to take place."
She smiled for real. "I am pleased to hear that my daughter will have such a devoted husband," she said. Her next words stuck in her throat when she saw the look he gave her other daughter. It looked he couldn't wait for their bedding to take place… again. I should have known Naeryn wouldn't hesitate to lure him to her bed, she thought and swallowed down the rising bitterness. She wanted her daughter to be happy the usual way but it would not happen, with Naeryn herself being so unusual. One day, her youth and beauty would leave her and what would she have then?
Naeryn embraced Elvar and left with Lord Yronwood without bothering to disguise it. Aelinor's breath caught again when the man reached for her daughter's deformed hand, casually, and tucked it in the crook of his elbow.
"Well," Elvar finally said when they were left alone. "That was certainly… interesting."
He looked at his father. "Did he just offered to forgive and forget?"
"He did," Alric said as Elia sank down on a coffer, the effort to sign as Lady of Dorne for a very first time and thus acknowledge Doran's death having sapped her energy.
Alric's drawn face showed that the moment had been taxing for him too. Absent-mindedly, he started for the window, avoiding looking at any of them.
Elia drew a deep breath, bracing herself for the question. "And does he have something to forgive us for?"
She had always known about Oberyn's ways – and she knew who he had inherited them from. And she had always tried not to think about that too much.
For a moment, Alric stayed with his back to them before slowly turning round. There was no apology on his face. He addressed his words to his sister alone, as if it had been she and not Elia who had asked the question. "Edgar Yronwood had to die," he said in a hollow voice. "I wished for his death on the very day of your wedding, Aelinor. Later, I managed to confirm that he was the one who let Maelys Blackfyre loose upon us."
Aelinor closed her eyes and swallowed, her eyes moving behind the eyelids. Then, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I thank you," she said, hoarsely.
"And why did you postpone your revenge for so long?" Elia wanted to know.
"If I had come across him in the first few months or even the first few years after, I would have challenged him and killed him upon the spot," her father said. "But he was careful to stay away from us for a while. Later, I could not challenge him without disrupting the peace in Dorne in a very major way. Proven betrayal or not, they were too strong for me to make a move. And he was very careful not to give me a pretext to challenge him."
Elia looked at him in horror because another thought came to her mind. "And when they caught Oberyn with this girl…"
Alric interrupted her immediately, his face flushed with fury. "Of course I told him," he snapped. "Do you really think I'd smear poison over my son's spear and not warn him in advance? What kind of man do you think I am?"
"I am sorry…" Elia started, looked away, met Elvar's eyes and suddenly they both saw the humour in the situation. Their father was so offended by the mere suggestion that he would use Oberyn, yet he clearly thought poisoning the old Yronwood was some kind of badge of honour.
"It's good to know it's over, now," Elvar said and rose from his chair. "I have to leave now," he said. "My things are ready. Sandstorm is waiting for me in the stables."
They all embraced him and he folded the now dry paper. Elia sealed it with her own seal and handed it to him. "Go," she said. "Go. Fly like the wind."
The three of them went out on the terrace and watched as the small party of three made its way out of the gates. When they went to their respective bedchambers, the night had swallowed both Elvar and the parchment that was their best bid.
The impassiveness Ser Gerold so carefully maintained broke a little when he saw Queen Elia striding purposefully towards the King's study. The cold afternoon light accentuated her sunken features and the shadows beneath her eyes but it also brought out the hard glint in her pupils and the determination in the tight line of her jaw. She waved the Lord Commander away with a gesture that was so imperious that he didn't even think to warn her that the King was in a meeting with some high-ranking officials. He simply bowed and let her pass and then felt silly for doing so.
In the vast chamber, Elia looked around, as usual liking the tidy look of the vast space. Papers, books, and maps were just where they ought to be. Even the writing table was free from all documents but the ones they were currently discussing. Her mother's study had looked like this, although she had preferred wider windows to let more sunlight while Rhaegar was just as pleased with beewax candles.
The two officials gathered there quickly rose to bow. She nodded at them graciously before making her curtsy to the King without smiling.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, my lady?" Rhaegar asked warily. She hadn't come on her own will in his study even once in the last six years unless there was an urgent matter to be discussed. An unpleasant one, usually.
"There is something we need to discuss, Your Grace."
Just as I thought. Rhaegar felt a stir of longing for the old days when she had poked her head in, like a little rabbit, and then drawn it back before entering fully – a gesture that had been their own, one of the many things that made them laugh together. Years ago, she would have seated herself silently, listening to the conversation while the people he was discussing matters with would try to impress her, of course – all but Jon Connington. For some reason, Jon had always disapproved of Elia and Rhaegar had been forced to remind him of his place more than once.
He reluctantly nodded and the men hurried to leave. Elia took a place against him, taking great care to arrange the folds of her creamy gown.
"Well?" he asked when the silence lingered.
Elia took a letter out of her gown and pushed it across the table. He read it, his brow furrowing. "Who is Alynna?" he asked. Judging by the harsh tone, she wasn't someone he'd like to know.
"Her name is Alynna," Elia said. "My cousin. She was intended to be your bride. Lucky you that it did not come to pass."
Rhaegar searched his memory. Indeed, he had heard the name of Alynna Gargalen thrown among the ladies who were suggested as his brides years ago. "Why lucky?" he asked.
Elia smiled sweetly. "Because you wouldn't have survived Harrenhall," she said. "She's much more warm-blooded than me and her brother can put Oberyn to shame. While I stopped both her brother and mine from killing you because I wanted you alive, she would have stopped them just to save the pleasure for herself."
Harrenhall. It always comes to Harrenhall. For the Mother's sake, it was only a crown of roses!
His wife, though, did not look willing to delve deeper. "Fortunately, before any firm arrangements could be made, clever Alynna eloped with our cousin Errol – a better man than you'll ever be. And someone who actually made prophecies, instead of reading about them. Somehow, he managed to live his life without being obsessed," she added, smiling once again. "Yet, he warned me not to wed you. That you would bring me only unhappiness in the long run." She paused. "I was ready to accept unhappiness for me, Rhaegar. I still am. But I am not dragging Dorne with me in it. As you can see, even my own kin is not safe while we are fighting here for my inheritance. I will not let Alynna suffer again because of you… she lost too much in the war already."
She looked him in the eye. "Right now, my brother Elvar is riding for Dorne with the document in which I renounce my rights over Dorne. He will give it to Oberyn. And unless I return as my own woman in a very short period of time, Oberyn will use it to establish his power supported by everyone."
"Elvar? You mean, the disfigured one? He's your bastard brother?"
"Yes," Elia said, cautiously. Why was he fixating over such a small, meaningless thing? For a wild moment, she wondered whether her husband had understood the real implications of her words.
"I didn't know you were this close to your father's bastards."
Elia shrugged. "You knew my father had sons out of wedlock."
"You never mentioned him."
"And you never asked," she countered. She wanted to pour herself some wine but she knew she shouldn't let her anxiety show.
He gave her a level look. "I can have him intercepted."
She smiled. "I'd like to see you try. He left long time ago. And you'll have to search through your stables really hard to find a stallion to match his sand steed."
Her words were a barb that Rhaegar didn't miss. He had been actively trying not to notice the lack of the traditional presents Sunspear had sent over ever so often – some of the finest sand steed for the King to ride.
"Anyway," Elia went on and there was suddenly a slight hiss to her voice, something viperish in her eyes. "It won't bring you anything. All of my father's retinue verified my signature with their own. All of them." She paused again. "As well as," she added pointedly, "your Master of Ships."
This time, his paleness showed her that he could no longer pretend indifference to her prattling. It also showed her that she had been right. Lord Anders Yronwood was a man worthy of her trust.
For a moment, Elia enjoyed her triumph before adding the final blow. The most risky one. "You have very little time, Rhaegar," she said. "Very little before Oberyn takes over. When our daughter could have inherited all. But if that's your wish, who am I to judge."
She leaned across the table. "If I am to stay here, we'd better start acting like a family," she said. "Albeit your idea of family sustained a significant change from what my family bargained on when they sent me here. Anyway, since we're family…"
Sunlight felt under an angle that once again revealed mercilessly the toll the last few years had taken from her. She was no longer the young woman her family had sent to him – and the changes beneath her skin were even greater than the ones above. With anger and regret, Rhaegar imagined the bitterness and distrust crawling up in her like a snake that had started its journey from her toes and now resided in her heart. It had not been planned to end like this. She had been supposed to understand or if not, at least forgive him.
"Since we're family," Elia went on, her voice still hissing soft and… lulling? "I think it's time we all know the truth."
All of a sudden, her calm mask fell down and revealed a face contorted with rage. "Let me go, Rhaegar," she said. "Let me go, and take Rhaenys, and give her my name, for Dorne will not suffer a Targaryen ruling over them. Or else I'll tell Lyanna just why you decided that you could not live without her. Why you were too weak to fight your love for her. Why you were so thrilled to hear that she was with child when she was terrified, for she only wanted freedom."
He actually rose, fierce and disbelieving. He could vividly imagine Lyanna's reaction, the rage, the rejection. She regretted ever having agreed to run away with him enough as it was already. "You wouldn't."
She met his eye without flinching. "Try me."
"If you wanted to do it, you would have done so years ago, when I first brought her here. You don't hate her this much."
"I don't hate…" she repeated, then shook her head incredulously and then startled him: she laughed. "You think I'll tell her because I hate her? By the gods, Rhaegar, you do have quite the opinion about yourself! I don't hate her at all. I pity her. I kept silent because I saw no reason to be punishing. The poor little fool has punished herself enough already. But I will tell her, not to punish her. I will do it to punish you. At least I won't be the only one suffering in this hell you call marriage!"
He started to move around the room, suppressing his urge to hit her, terrified that he wouldn't be able to suppress it for too long. But Elia was not helping his good intentions: as if drawn by his rage that was trying to make a match for her own, she moved parallel to him. It was a strange, bizarre dance of anger and disappointment.
It was as if a dam had been unleashed within her: all of a sudden, the anger she had suppressed for so long was too great to be contained any longer. She added, smiling once again, "Well, I survived years in your bed knowing that you were only aiming to get your heads of the dragon, so I suppose your warrior she-wolf will, too. And who knows, you might even succeed in convincing her that I was lying to her."
He stopped all of a sudden, reached out to shake her, checked himself in time. "You will do it? You were one of the very few people in this entire realm whom I fully trusted! More fool I – I thought you were smart enough to understand."
"You thought I was a wall you could talk to," she mocked. "When, exactly, did you confide in me, my lord? When I disappointed you by not dying helpfully to let you free to marry a new bride after the birth of the son who was not enough? When you came back and tried to explain it all to me – the danger this girl is to my children by her very existence to this day and for decades after her death, my kinsmen's deaths, my own humiliation – with a prophecy? One that you got wrong again, at that! When did you ever listen to my advice?"
They stared at each other, breathing heavily. Elia swallowed, determined not to show the fear that was gripping her. Never before had she felt physically threatened by Rhaegar. The memories of Aerys came back roaring in her mind.
"I didn't want it to come to this," she managed and her voice got steadier. "But I will tell her if I must." She even managed a taunting smile. "Of course, by then Oberyn might have very well proclaimed Dorne an independent realm once again and then… you know how it is. 'This is Dorne. You are not wanted here, return at your peril.' Naturally, I'd like for my son to rule over a strong unified kingdom and his best chance is to have Dorne ruled by his sister but alas…" She faked a sigh. "Who knows, maybe it's worth losing Dorne – and other kingdoms following its example, no doubt – to keep me here. After all, the entire realm knows how much you love me."
For a moment, she thought she had gone too far. Her own fear had led her to an outburst that was far from her usual behavior. But well, what had her usual behavior brought her? At least now he'd put an end – a terrible end, maybe, but an end anyway. Instead, he fought to regain his composure.
"Get out," he said tonelessly.
Taking her time, she smoothed the folds of her gown and moved towards the door, keeping her eyes on him all the time. In the hallway, Ser Gerold tried to look indifferent but he could not quite keep his curious eyes off her.
Only when she went round the corner did Elia lean against the wall, her heart beating as if she had just run ten miles.
"Admiring men from better times?"
The sound of the familiar voice made Arthur turn around, with his back to the portrait of Lord Alor Gargalen, bastard, Princess Daella's husband, a marine captain, Master of Ships, and Hand of the King. It was not a portrait in the true meaning of the word, it was more like a moment caught from life and engraved in the painter's memory – a young man, strong and slim, staring out at the sea and the sails of the waiting ship, a man in his prime.
"Something like this, my lord," he answered cautiously, for it was always a good thing to be cautious around Alric. Elia's father did not bother to hide his distrust and derision of Arthur. I cannot deny that he has a good reason to feel this way. In truth, Arthur was very surprised that Alric still hadn't found a pretext to challenge him, with the underlying reason well known to both of them. I did abandon his daughter in her hour of need and he knows it. My oath is not an excuse that will wash with him. And the fact that I am wielding Dawn won't stop him either. But this time Alric looked suspiciously conciliatory which immediately put Arthur on the alert. "I was quite impressed by the likeness."
"Were you?" Alric's voice held a strange note. "How could you? You didn't know my father in his later years, let alone his prime."
"But I knew your brother," Arthur said softly, looking at the portrait again, and the name and portrait conjured a memory they both held in their hearts. Carral Gargalen, a marine captain, head of the Dornish fleet, man of easy charm, sharp wit, and iron will. Dead of five years. As usual, Alric felt the familiar mix of anger, grief, and guilt that grasped him each time he thought of his brother and nephews, executed by Robert Baratheon after the Battle at Summerhall. Alric was never the one to sail under false colours, even in front of himself. He knew the only reason he had been spared was the fact that he was Doran's father. Baratheon wasn't this feral with rage.
"Ah, so you remember him," he said and with something like relief, Arthur recognized Alric's return to his usual self. "I thought you didn't even know we were any more… sitting idle in a tower in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but guard someone who was in no danger at all would do that to a person."
He was taken aback when Arthur went ashen. What in the seven hells is that? He had intended only a small blow that the stupid boy fully deserved. Instead, he had hit a vital organ and he had no idea how he had done it.
And then the air was sucked away from his lungs. Arthur's eyes, looking up at Alor's face – Carral's face – with guilt, remorse, and horror that time had not soothed nearly enough told him the answer of all his wonderings. Arthur's face was lashed open now, as much as Elvar's had once been, for those who could read it.
"I understand you now," Alric said softly, his anger disappeared, for he, too, had made selfish choices. He could understand selfishness – even if he could not forgive yet. "Come on. Let's get out of here. Don't look at him. It's over and you aren't making amends to him by ruminating over your own part in this."
"Will you give me away?" the younger man asked in a choked voice.
Alric shook his head. "I won't. And anyway, life will soon punish you more severely than I could. Soon, I'll have my daughter back. In Dorne where she belongs. And my lovely granddaughter, as well. And you'll have your vows and your regrets."
It was not a blow. It was a simple statement of fact. Arthur went out in the first warmer day in months, with people laughing and sun caressing his face, and felt like the loneliest person in the Seven's realms.
A/N. For those interested, the reason behind Alric's vendetta against the old Lord Yronwood and the sad events of his sister's wedding are detailed in my other story, Love to Live.